


The Fairest of Them All

by theprincessofdenial



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Character Study, First Time, Lots of dialogue, M/M, No beta we die like mne, Spock starts a rant about philosophy at some point, Spock/McCoy - Freeform, Vulcan voodoo as McCoy would put it, actually we die like non-native speakers, episode-related at times, hey you remember every fanfic cliché there is? it's all in here, horribly long sentences because that's how I roll, if McCoy seems ooc there's a reason for that, like at all, no descriptions of banging, sorry folks, spones - Freeform, there are so many tags I want to use that would be spoilers, with plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26981449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprincessofdenial/pseuds/theprincessofdenial
Summary: “Doctor,” Spock says flatly. “You were supposed to share a hypothesis with me.”McCoy grunts in frustration. He’s not sure what exactly did he expect out of this conversation, but it’s not going according to any of the most vague plans.“Fine, Mr. Spock. Fine! Have it your way, purely scientific. In the light of the events I have described I must conclude you’re avoiding me.”Spock looks at him blankly.“It is an unusual occurrence but there are some instances when you are correct. This is one of those,” he says, and the door swooshes shut.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Comments: 10
Kudos: 63





	The Fairest of Them All

**Author's Note:**

> If McCoy doesn't seem like himself, bear with me for a moment. If you notice any mistakes, please point them out. I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing when it comes to punctuation.

1.

McCoy at some point notices that Spock only projects an aura of a person with a straight back. Of all the people on the Enterprise, he is the one with shoulders always slightly hunched. It might be about the height difference. Spock may not want to look down on others.

Oh, but he does so often.

Or perhaps Spock’s air of competence and self-confidence is more fragile than anyone would suspect. McCoy wonders if there’s more to his discovery. He files it under things he might just use in a discussion with that damn Vulcan to finally wipe the smug look off his face. And yet, he never uses it.

It is one of the many things he _could_ tell Spock to call him out on his bullshit. He has a whole list. He has witnessed Spock break down on many occasions—but this is different. All the things he could make Spock remember to get the upper hand even for a moment were happening under the influence of some spores, viruses, or hormonal imbalance that could serve as exculpatory circumstance. All these emotional breakdowns were obvious and everyone knew without saying it out loud that they would never speak of them again. But this—this is special. It’s a crack in the façade that is always there and yet goes unnoticed. Spock has everyone fooled, and McCoy is the only one who knows better. This piece of information is his and his alone. He will not blurt it out without serious provocation.

Oh, but Spock’s existence itself is a provocation.

McCoy considers himself open-minded. He is a doctor after all, and one that enrolled in Starfleet. He’s met many aliens, and learnt about many cultures. But Spock… Spock is something different. In the first months of the mission the Doctor decides that it’s not that Spock’s whole personality is an insult to him—it’s the lack thereof. It takes the Taurus II crash-landing to make him realize how utterly wrong about that he was. Spock as a commanding officer didn’t simply turn out to be a stiff-necked, cold-blooded, and by-the-book, he was also _infuriating_. Spock simply refused to take any emotions into account, and it didn’t matter whether they were his own crew’s or the creatures’ who attacked them.

But what McCoy found most outrageous was Spock’s final act of desperation, when he decided to jettison the fuel and saved them all. (Well, not _all._ Not Gaetano and Latimer, McCoy thinks bitterly.) So Spock could have acted on his emotions. McCoy isn’t sure why he keeps thinking this would change anything on Taurus II. Jim would probably make the same decisions. But he keeps going back to these memories. All this time Spock could have shown a shred of empathy, of frustration, of anything. He simply chose not to, and that’s what bothers McCoy. Spock could be just like him—like them, he just doesn’t want to. He wants to be better, superior.

It takes another three months for McCoy to realize that Spock doesn’t try to be superior to Humans, doesn’t care about that at all. He’s struggling not to be considered inferior by Vulcans. McCoy could use _that_ to hurt Spock, but by that time he’s already wondering why would he ever want to do that. He doesn’t understand where does the pang he feels come from. Spock isn’t a cold-blooded computer, he just desperately wants to be one, the Doctor decides. It’s not about what Spock is, it’s about what Spock makes of himself.

But it doesn’t make it much better, does it. It means that whenever Spock counts the odds instead of doing the right thing immediately, whenever Spock considers people a set of data, whenever he fails to act like McCoy would have acted, he actively chooses to do so.

Oh, and the worst part? Despite all of McCoy’s knowledge, against all of the Doctor’s expertise and morals, Spock’s often right. Those are the instances when McCoy’s blood is boiling, and he’s not just putting on the grumpy act. Spock’s not supposed to be right, not when everything in McCoy screams that the actions of the First Officer go against his own Humanist values. He knows it’s petty, he knows he’s bigger than that, and at the end of the day the important thing is that Jim’s safe, the ship survives, the death toll is minimal. There’s a small voice at the back of McCoy’s head telling him that the successful outcome means that perhaps the person who was in the wrong was _him_. Even though he didn’t act out of selfishness or malice, even if he recognized the value of every individual life and felt for every being his actions would affect, perhaps it still wasn’t enough.

 _Obviously_ , the Other says coolly.

Doctor McCoy isn’t a bad man. He’s perfectly capable of introspection and he’s able to admit—at least to himself—when he’s wrong. Moreover, he doesn’t feel any satisfaction when Spock makes a serious mistake, and he doesn’t withhold his help. ( _If only his help was required_.)

So his fury lasts only for a few seconds – and then comes the bafflement. When Spock wins, when Spock turns out to have been right all along, the Vulcan doesn’t gloat. McCoy doesn’t expect him to gloat in a Human way but there must be some Vulcan equivalent of gloating, like at least acknowledging one’s success. Spock doesn’t do that, Spock just stands there, receiving well-deserved praise that too often turns into innocent ridicule when Jim starts teasing him about some unimportant event. Spock responds to these minor quips with dignity that McCoy envies. Sometimes the First Officer ignores the taunts, sometimes he answers them with dry humor, quite often he pretends not to understand an idiom and carries it to its literal conclusion. But his shoulders are still hunched.

Spock doesn’t care when his Vulcan ethics are being questioned or contested. The Doctor challenges him, pushes him every step, every minute, he can’t agree with the world Spock lives in, one of cold numbers and probabilities, one where the greater good is so important that it’s not necessary for it to be the _actual_ good. The Vulcan is like a magnet to him. They argue, they clash, they fight all the way, for McCoy knows what is right and at some point Spock must admit it. Will admit it.

Or perhaps it’s just the Doctor who argues, clashes, and fights. It seems that for Spock it’s more of a play, an exercise that never makes him break a sweat. Most of the times McCoy meets Spock’s calm gaze, he feels like a bug under a microscope. And yet he stubbornly keeps coming back, and Spock for some reason lets him.

The Doctor knows that Spock desperately wants to be Vulcan, and questioning that status would be the easiest way to get an emotional reaction out of him. Jim did it once. McCoy slowly realizes he can hit where it hurts. He could call Spock out on his bullshit, _fully_ , not as a Vulcan, as a half-Human.

He never does. He’s horrified he even came up with the idea. So he resumes the fights, he sometimes uses the cracks in Spock’s armor that Spock allows to be noticed, but he mostly attacks the Vulcan in Spock, not the Human. A year into the mission he’s not sure if he’s still angry about Spock’s values being at times so alien, almost abhorrent, or is it simply a ritual they have grown to enjoy (he doesn’t hate Spock, after all). Or is it about willingly participating in a charade that lets McCoy vent his frustrations with the Utilitarian approach while mostly just affirming Spock’s Vulcan identity. Spock turns out to be right more often than not.

 _So you seek him out_.

So he seeks Spock out, after the shift, in the lab, in the turbolift, in the middle of an away mission. He gleefully baits the alien, he angrily questions his logic and his motives, sometimes he even childishly teases Spock about his ears. He’s not stupid, by now he knows he’s actually fond of the Vulcan, God knows why. There’s a well-established pattern these clashes follow but it’s familiar and after some time it starts giving him an odd sense of security. Sometimes he manages to get a mean comment about his own competences as a physician or as an officer. He’s never sure whether Spock’s just playing the same game or being serious. A raised eyebrow is all he can get out of the Vulcan—and it’s infuriating, McCoy has seen the First Officer angry on many occasions, _just never because of him_. Spock doesn’t flinch. It seems that whatever McCoy does, he can’t stir an emotional reaction he seeks so desperately and for reasons unknown. And yet he never calls Spock out, never fully.

2.

_Except you do._

Except he does. He’s been so fed up with Spock’s calm and absolute arrogance and the atrocity they led to that after one particular mission he comes to Spock’s quarters. He could go to Jim’s but Jim needs a break. He would prefer to barge in but it’s not possible since he has to wait for Spock to answer the chime and open the door. But he rushes past Spock decidedly, he and his air of indignation.

“Yes, Doctor?” Spock says politely and looks at him with what McCoy interprets as respectful indifference.

“Don’t ‘yes, Doctor’ me, oh don’t you dare!” McCoy huffs. He’s helpless and he can’t change what has already happened, but that makes him even angrier. “I kept quiet for Jim’s sake but it’s not like you have any feelings I should spare. How could you? Both of you!”

Spock looks at him, unimpressed.

“Doctor, since you have been cleared for duty I believe there’s no need for me to consider the continued influence of cordazine on your behavior. I must assume this is once again a typical for you display of blatant emotionalism.”—“You bet it is,” McCoy cuts in but Spock continues, unperplexed: “Are you referring to the necessary death of Edith Keeler?”

“Yes, Mr. Spock, of course I am. And no, not ‘necessary,’” McCoy scowls. “There was nothing necessary about it. You had no right. No right! And if you try to justify it, so help me God—“

“It was not only what was necessary. It was what already happened.”

“No, Mr. Spock. She was alive when we met her, very much so. We could have saved her! You knew what was going to happen and you allowed it. You allowed a brilliant, kind young woman to die because you decided she should. And you had no right do make that decision.”

Spock considers him for a moment.

“Yes, Doctor, I believe you have expressed this sentiment less than a minute ago. However,” he pauses briefly for emphasis, “the choice was not ours to make. An intervention at that point would have been a direct violation of the course of the history. _That_ would have been a choice, and one that would doom millions. We did not make any decisions. Edith Keeler was already dead when we met her.”

“Oh yeah, you made sure of that, didn’t you,” McCoy spits, but the Vulcan merely lifts an eyebrow. “Every life can be sacrificed for the greater good, especially if you personally benefit from it.”

Finally, Spock blinks owlishly. McCoy counts that as a win, even though it all feels weird, as if the perspective had changed. Like watching himself through someone else’s eyes.

“Yeah, you thought I didn’t notice?”

“Doctor, I do not believe I follow,” Spock says. And he clearly doesn’t, but neither does McCoy.

“She was a smart girl, strong, pretty. Captain’s type, Mr. Spock. You couldn’t have that, right?”

Spock hunches a little bit more. No one who wasn’t paying attention to that little detail would have noticed but McCoy’s pretty adept at reading his superior’s body language by now. “Doctor, I am not sure what are you referring to but I am starting to suspect you are making an argument on a very faulty presumption.”

Did Spock’s eyes widen slightly? McCoy can’t tell, everything is a bit off. He knows he should stop. He doesn’t.

“Well, I hate to break it to you that but the whole ship is making the same argument, Mr. Spock. Everybody knows. Except for Jim, poor bastard.” Spock winces, but the Doctor keeps going. “And now? Now you’ve crossed the line, now you’ve made him complicit in the murder of a girl that was threatening you. That’s something new, I’ll give you that.”

Did Spock suddenly get a bit paler? Probably not, but McCoy likes to believe that he did. The Vulcan certainly opens his mouth to form a sentence, and then shuts it. _Here it is_ , McCoy’s got him. That’s the emotional response he’s been looking for for so long!

Something doesn’t feel right, though.

When Spock finally says something, he suddenly seems less intimidating, shrunken. But his voice is steadier than ever.

“Doctor, you are mistaken.”

“Oh am I?” McCoy purrs. It’s not like him, to continue to intentionally hurt someone. Why doesn’t he stop? He wants to scream, he wants to shake the man he doesn’t recognize, he wants to beg him to shut up. He opens his mouth, but what comes out of it is not what he intended, like he has no control whatsoever.

“You think you have everyone fooled? Well, you don’t.” McCoy’s not raising his voice anymore. He never does when he’s saying things that are particularly cruel. “You’re just as irrational as the rest of us, you hypocrite. You think I didn’t see you flinch just now? You think I don’t see you slouching all the time when people are not looking, you think you’re in control because you’re a Vulcan? No, you’re not. You’re not in control, and guess what? Neither are you a Vulcan.” McCoy leans in conspiratorially. “That’s why you ran off, that’s why you chose a ship full of Humans. You thought we wouldn’t notice, that we would find you so alien we wouldn’t be able to look past your ears? No, Mr. Spock. You’re not Vulcan. And you make a shitty, weak Human.”

It seems that at some point he has invaded Spock’s personal space. He notices that only when Spock takes a step back with as much dignity as he can muster.

Wait, that’s not right. That’s not how it happened, he tries to tell the Other.

But it _is_ happening, it’s unfolding right before his eyes.

“Doctor, I believe you should leave,” Spock says quietly. McCoy thinks so too.

But the details are hazy. Spock looks different, and he’s saying something different.

“Doctor, I believe you have expressed this sentiment less than a minute ago. However,” Spock goes on calmly as if nothing happened, “the choice was not ours to make. An intervention at that point would have been a direct violation of the course of the history. _That_ would have been a choice, and one that would doom millions. We did not make any decisions. Edith Keeler was already dead when we met her.”

“No, dammit! She wasn’t.” McCoy protests. “We could have saved her. You couldn’t know, you couldn’t be sure about the rest. Anything could happen! She could have married Jim and get bored with politics.”

Spock raises both eyebrows.

“Doctor, even in your aggravated state you must realize that is an extremely unlikely scenario. Miss Keeler was idealistic and driven. Had she married the Captain, her zeal would certainly not decrease. To assume so is—”

“Sexist,” the Doctor cuts in, suddenly very aware that Spock is right in this case.

“I intended to say: unusually conservative,” the Vulcan agrees in his way.

McCoy’s anger deflates. He’s just tired. From what, he’s not sure. It feels as if they had this argument for a longer time. As if he said much more than he actually did.

“Sexist or not, there were hundreds of factors that could set the history back in place. It was arrogant of you to believe you have taken all of them into account,” he says and he leaves before Spock gets the last word.

Wait, no. That’s still not how it happened.

He turns around before he reaches the threshold. “Be kind to Jim. We can’t even begin to imagine how hard it’s for him. God knows why, but apparently he needs you at his side.”

Spock, still a bit baffled by McCoy’s sudden and anticlimactic retreat, tilts his head in acknowledgment. McCoy isn’t really sure if he just gave Spock his blessing, and if so, why doesn’t it feel good.

3.

Nothing changes, even if McCoy is a bit confused at some moments, as if he were watching himself from the outside. He can’t put his finger on it, but it feels as if there was more than one way in which the same things happen. ( _How astute_ , the Other comments, and McCoy grits his teeth angrily.) 

For example: a few months later on Thanoda-IV. They’re on a routine away mission, collecting samples, working along each other mostly in silence. There are five of them: Spock, himself, DeSalle, Masters, and Zhang, a new ensign McCoy didn’t get to know yet. They’ve been on the planet for hours now, and while the high ionization keeps interfering with their scanners, the mission is fairly simple and the planet is absolutely unremarkable. It’s the cataloguing and research after that that will require some amount of attention.

McCoy doesn’t know what exactly happens. One minute he’s scraping moss off a trunk, the other he’s apparently impaled on something that he fortunately can’t see. If he saw it, it would mean an exit wound on his chest. He learns later that it looks more like a sharpened stick than a proper spear. At the moment he’s too shocked to feel most of the pain but he knows it won’t last long, and he’s not looking forward to what inevitably comes next. He hears screams and he’s pretty sure they’re his but there’s no way to tell with the blood pounding in his ears. Spock’s running towards him and catching him before he hits the ground, the rest of the party scattering to avoid next objects thrown in their direction. The Vulcan looks funny, McCoy can’t tell if it’s a flicker of emotion so alien to his face or if it’s something like overgrown stubble that apparently seems a lot more overgrown. Funny thing, the reality’s glitching. Everything should be more vivid but it’s like watching the events from afar. The details are hazy and Spock is still holding him, and tweaking with the communicator instead of applying pressure to the wound but McCoy’s not able to form a sentence to instruct him on proper—or any—CPR.

The reality finally kicks in and McCoy, writhing, hears Spock calling for emergency transport for two, directly to sickbay. He wonders briefly why _two_ , what the hell is Spock doing, leaving the rest of the party on the planet.

When McCoy wakes up two days later (Geoff did well and no vital organs were damaged), it turns out he isn’t the only one wondering about the same exact thing. It took Spock way over thirty seconds to register that he left three people planet-side in the middle of an attack. They get transported out, one with a dislodged arm, one with a bleeding thigh, and one with some bruises caused by throwing herself on the ground too rashly. They should have contacted the ship themselves, McCoy scolds DeSalle when he runs into him in the rec room the next week. DeSalle reminds him with annoyance that the ion anomaly interfered with the communications, and they weren’t able to retrace Spock’s actions that led to the short amplified burst of the signal. You know, Doc, given that they were under attack from natives whose planet they sorta invaded by accident.

So Spock left them to be slaughtered. For the entirety of thirty-eight seconds he didn’t remember that they needed to be beamed out. McCoy isn’t sure why he keeps coming back to that fact. These things happen. They’re okay. McCoy’s okay. Everything is okay, and Spock acted like any of the Humans would in that situation so nobody makes any comments. At least not to Spock’s face.

Jim doesn’t pull an agonizer on him, as far as McCoy knows. The landing party reacted to the primitive assault with phaser fire, instantly and per regulations. The Captain makes sure Spock comes back with a whole security squad to guarantee the savages don't try to fend off the Empire, and that’s pretty much it.

Wait, no. Something’s wrong.

4.

It feels like the reality branches here and there. If McCoy squints, he can notice different uniforms or something that Christine or Jim would never do. Then these moments pass and he’s walking the familiar corridor or attempting to chat with a crewman during a physical.

In both versions Spock is almost never present since the incident. At first it makes sense. Spock has always been too hard on himself, he’s going to overwork himself to compensate for the lapse in judgement. His efficiency is up by seven percent, though both the bridge crew and scientists who confide in McCoy in sickbay complain about an annoying tendency to fixate on minor procedural details that has manifested in the First Officer lately.

After two weeks McCoy can clearly see Spock’s exhaustion. Shoulders slightly more hunched, dark circles under the eyes, and loss of appetite. He almost never sees Spock in the mess hall. Every time he attempts to sit next to the First Officer, Spock apparently has just finished eating what little he had on his plate. They don’t run into each other in the corridor anymore, and they haven’t met in the turbolift in days. McCoy orders him to have a checkup after the shift, and when it’s time it turns out Spock actually requested a half-hour break and went to M’Benga instead. _In the middle of the shift_. Granted, nothing important or dangerous was happening. There were no crises to be averted, no fascinating discoveries to be made at the time. The bridge could deal with Spock’s absence without a hiccup, but that never stopped Spock from sitting there, vigilant and ready.

So, Spock is shunning both of him. Him. Spock’s shunning him, and going great lengths to avoid spending even a minute with him without the company of others.

McCoy spends the next few days after that realization thinking about approaching the subject in a way that wouldn’t make Spock uncomfortable. It’s quite obvious the Doctor serves as a reminder of a perceived failure, and Spock keeps beating himself up over it even though everybody—the landing party included—have forgotten about the incident. It’s not fair, neither to McCoy, nor to Spock.

(or: _it’s an advantage that should be seized_ , the Other volunteers.)

It’s the exact opposite of the whole Galileo ordeal. For a short moment Spock acted out of panic instead of following the procedure. McCoy isn’t sure why he’s not satisfied with that. Honestly, it’s as if Spock can’t do anything right. If he doesn’t act emotionally, it’s reprehensive to the Doctor. If he does act emotionally, it’s a bit different—McCoy finds some satisfaction in the fact itself, but the end result turns out to be even more annoying. Spock bugs him with his presence and even more so with his absence. McCoy doesn’t understand that, and he knows it makes no sense. All things considered, if he found Spock so irritating before, why did he keep seeking him out? Well, of course he likes Spock, and their arguments are ritualized sometimes to the point of being meaningless, too often serving as the only form of communication available to them. It doesn’t mean McCoy doesn’t value this communication, no matter how odd it is. Spock’s his friend. Still, there are so many friendships that are so much – well, _easier_. Ones that don’t consist of constant fights. Banter. He means banter. ( _Fights_ , the Other insists). It’s almost as if this weren’t a friendship at all, as if it were something entirely different. But Spock has engaged in that tug of war willingly, McCoy realizes with wonder. Until recently the Vulcan never avoided it, and not only did he respond to the baiting, he kept baiting McCoy himself. It takes Spock’s sudden withdrawal to notice that the relationship they had, whatever it was, was never as asymmetrical as the Doctor pictured it.

He refuses to ponder on it. This is not the time for dissecting every little feeling he has—Spock is distressed, and that’s a priority. Whatever Spock’s exact rationale is, he seems to be losing sleep, spending even less time on recreation, and attempting to achieve the efficiency of a computer. Spock’s good at many things but certainly not at knowing his own limits. It must be stopped before Spock faints on the bridge or makes another serious mistake out of simple exhaustion. It would only make matters worse. And no, this is definitely not about McCoy missing the bastard.

He refuses to ponder on it. This is not the time for dissecting every little feeling he has. He needs to do that later to know his own weaknesses—but right now there are some much more interesting weaknesses to tend to, and they’re not his.

He doesn’t arrive at Spock’s door right after his shift, knowing that Spock is going to spend much more time than required in the lab. He buzzes at the Vulcan’s door half an hour after the computer gives him the information about Spock finally returning to his quarters (yes, he accesses such information for purely medical purposes, no, he’s not using his prerogatives to spy on fellow officers, thank you very much).

Spock opens the door after the first chime. If he’s annoyed by seeing McCoy, he doesn’t show it. He just stands there, still in the uniform and not one hair out of place.

‘Yes, Doctor?” He asks politely and makes no gesture that would suggest he intends to invite McCoy in.

“Mr. Spock, as the ship’s CMO I must point out a new, quite disturbing pattern in your behavior. It might lead to a whole set of problems, if unaddressed,” McCoy says. He opened with his credentials, he vaguely reminded Spock about his authority over him, he expressed professional concern. So far so good. “Your efficiency is more than satisfactory at the moment, Mr. Spock, but I don’t think you can keep it up much longer.”

“Doctor, while I appreciate your efforts to ensure the crew’s safety, your concern in this case is unnecessary,” Spock says evenly and makes a gesture as to turn around, which is just plain _rude_.

“Oh nono _no_ ,” McCoy cuts in, hurriedly. “I’m not finished, Mr. Spock. Beside obvious signs of sleep deprivation— _and no,_ you do not get to pretend that’s not a thing, have you looked into a mirror lately?—there have been concerns raised about you being short-tempered. Or whatever short-tempered is for a Vulcan, I mean,” McCoy adds awkwardly.

That at least gets him an eyebrow.

“Raised by whom?”

Ouch. He wasn’t supposed to tattle.

“That, Mr. Spock, is beside the point. You are acting strangely, and people are noticing something’s wrong.” The Doctor looks around the empty corridor. “So are you going to keep me standing in the corridor? Can I come in and can we talk like adults?”

Spock looks as if he barely suppressed the urge to cover the door protectively.

“I do not believe that is necessary. Neither is your concern, Doctor. I am perfectly capable to fulfill the requirements of my position on this ship adequately.”

McCoy might be rolling his eyes at the moment, he’s not sure. It’s a reflex when dealing with Spock.

“At the moment. Look, you pig-headed martyr, I get it,” he snaps. “You’re overcompensating after a silly mistake, and this behavior is going to become self-destructive sooner than you think, but you’re going to say you’re fine in fifty different ways if given the opportunity. I’m not going to ask you if you’re getting enough sleep, the answer to that question is obvious. But are you meditating?”

There’s a barely noticeable frown forming between Spock’s eyebrows. His control is not as perfect as it would normally be.

“I was attempting to, Doctor.”

“Aha!” McCoy exclaims, triumphantly. “So you’re only attempting to, not actually meditating.”

Spock’s lips tighten momentarily.

“What I meant, Doctor, is that you have interrupted me. You make my meditation impossible. Thus I should adhere to your advice and dedicate the five hours before the start of my shift to meditation.” Spock pushes a button almost impatiently. “Have a pleasant day or evening, whichever you find a more adequate description, given the current duty roster,” he says before the door swooshes closed completely, leaving McCoy exasperated, and—what is definitely worse—without a chance to have the last word. Yup, that’s pretty much how it happened, even if some minor details may vary.

5.

McCoy comes back the next day, because of course he does.

“Yes, Doctor.” Spock deadpans, and his irritation is almost tangible.

“Mr. Spock, you said ‘you make my meditation impossible.’ Not ‘you’re making’ as in, you know, at the moment. When I was talking to you back then.”

“Your point being?”

McCoy takes a deep breath.

“Alright, hear me out, as a scientist to another scientist. I have a hypothesis.”

“And what would it be?” Spock asks tiredly. Once again he’s standing in the doorway and not moving.

“As far as I can tell, you have reduced the time spent in the common areas. Not significantly, just in some aspects. It takes you less than a minute to lose interest in food when I sit next to you, even though you seem comfortable eating with Jim. I have asked around and you attend some of the social gatherings, even if there are fewer of such instances. Why did I have to ask around, you want to inquire?”

“Not particularly,” Spock says, but McCoy ignores him.

“Well, Mr. Spock, that’s because I haven’t seen you at a social gathering in weeks. When I come to Jim’s quarters, you’re never there. Same with the rec room. And when I ordered you to report to me for a checkup, you altered your schedule just to go to M’Benga behind my back.”

“Doctor M’Benga is better qualified. Vulcans are not your area of expertise.”

McCoy feels his eyes narrow. Perhaps it would be different, had he not been standing in the middle of the corridor two hours after the end of the shift. Passing crewmembers are already giving them funny looks. He’s confused, lost, and angry. He settles on anger.

“That has nothing to do with it. Are you just going to state random facts? I am as qualified as M’Benga when it comes to a routine checkup. You didn’t complain before, when I was stitching you back together after every stupid stunt you pulled! And you were scheduled for a checkup at a stated hour that would not collide with your duties on the Bridge. You have a beef with me.”

“Doctor,” Spock says flatly. “You were supposed to share a hypothesis with me.”

McCoy grunts in frustration. He’s not sure what exactly did he expect out of this conversation, but it’s not going according to any of the most vague plans. Spock’s never been so uncooperative. Besides, well, the whole pon farr business, and McCoy’s definitely not going down that path.

“Fine, Mr. Spock. Fine! Have it your way, purely scientific. In the light of the events I have described I must conclude you’re avoiding me.”

Spock looks at him blankly.

“It is an unusual occurrence but there are some instances when you are correct. This is one of those,” he says, and the door swooshes shut.

Spock ignores the next fifteen chimes.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you screwed up!” McCoy yells finally at the door, and angrily turns on his heel, heading to Jim’s to find solace in contraband alcohol.

Is this how it went down? Yes, he’s sure of that. But he’s also absolutely certain the entire scene unfolded differently, with Spock making some thinly veiled threat and him laughing at it. And then with him using his medical override to enter Spock’s quarters and making some mean remark about the Vulcan incense hanging in the air and offending his senses. About Spock needing more of it for his meditation than usually. Then with asking a nasty question, something along the lines of are things with the Captain not that great? And then with Spock physically dragging him out of the room with little regard for his joints, and informing him that at the moment his experiments may be an asset but that will not stop Spock from putting him in the brig for assaulting a superior officer. With McCoy pointing out that Spock’s actually inferior to the rest of the Humans on the ship but congratulating him on his efforts to resemble them nonetheless. They’re getting more and more successful, Mr. Spock, a few more displays of emotionalism and you might just pass as one of us. And then McCoy tries to break away before he gets thrown back to the corridor, and then, _oh God_ , and then Spock is trying to adjust his grip on his arm and he touches his bare wrist on accident, McCoy tries to jerk his hand away, Spock’s fingers slip and touch his fingers for a fraction of a second, and it’s like an electric shock, like nothing before, the rage is blinding, and there’s something underneath it, and it’s weird and alien, it needs to be dissected and understood, it’s all-consuming and it’s still fury, but it’s also _something else_ , bright, obvious, radiant, and scorching hot _._ And then it ends abruptly, Spock draws his hand back, looking as if he’s been actually burned, eyes wide, face white as a sheet, the goatee making the contrast even more stark.

The Vulcan leaves McCoy wheezing on the corridor, and closes the door abruptly. In retrospective, McCoy’s sure Spock used the first few seconds to block any of the Doctor’s override codes. Right now his head is spinning and he just stands there, in the middle of the corridor, for a moment not sure which one of them he actually is, overcome by something he has no name for until he settles for nausea. Crewmen pass him but not dare to ask if he’s okay.

Both of these things happen, and McCoy feels his exasperation and worry, and whatever the hell _that_ was, both at the same time. He goes to Jim’s quarters for a glass of brandy and a talk, and they spend the evening perfectly pleasantly. And he manages to stumble through the few yards of the corridor to his own quarters before he gets sick on the floor. After a moment he’s able to differentiate between what experience and feeling is his, and what belonged to Spock. He tries to isolate the alien part and finds it much more interesting than expected, though his nausea doesn’t pass so quickly. He spends most of the night wheezing on the bathroom tiles till he drags himself to bed and dreams of Spock of all things.

6.

It’s weird, how some of the details undermine each other, how the same thing happens and doesn’t happen at the same time, and yet how there are some fixed points at which the reality comes back together just to split up again. Still, after that fiasco of a conversation there are fewer tangent points, and it is increasingly difficult to keep track of the two separate paths things are going simultaneously.

_Doctor, by now you surely must realize why is that so._

McCoy pushes that voice to the back of his head angrily. I somebody’s going to make sense of all of this, it’s him, not the Other.

_Doctor, your actions are inadvisable and you risk further injury. Your mind is undisciplined, even compared to your counterpart’s._

Oh, shut up.

So both things happen, apparently. Spock wants to avoid open conflict or any personal conversations so he tries to mitigate himself. They don’t spend as much time together as before, Spock doesn’t bait the Doctor anymore, and his responses to the Human’s jabs seem forced. Spock is no longer drawn to him but doesn’t disappear the moment McCoy walks in. McCoy’s pretty sure something is broken, he doesn’t know what it is, and he doesn’t address it—Spock made it quite clear he doesn’t want to discuss it. The Doctor is stubborn but that also means he can wait. Spock doesn’t actively run away anymore, so, given time, things will perhaps go back to normal. McCoy doesn’t understand why the situation is bothering him so much, but mostly he’s just worried about Spock, who still looks exhausted and whose control seems to be slipping further, with sharp comments and the slouching noticeable to almost everyone. He must have trouble meditating. At some point McCoy recommends the Vulcan takes sleeping pills so he doesn’t collapse in the middle of a crisis. Surprisingly, Spock complies. And that’s the end of it.

That definitely happens, and McCoy reluctantly learns to accept a fragile ceasefire that follows a battle he didn’t notice, didn’t start and can’t pinpoint. But what also _definitely_ happens is McCoy waltzing gleefully into Spock’s lab in the middle of the shift and starting with “So, Mr. Spock, about last week.” The First Officer freezes only momentarily, and then he snaps “out” without even turning to face him. The Doctor thinks for a moment that Spock’s talking to him, and he’s getting ready to say something more threatening, but then he sees the rest of the science team hurriedly leaving the room. His scowl transforms into a malicious smile.

“I am not exactly sure what you wish to discuss, Doctor,” Spock says, still hunched over a microscope. “However, I implore you to be brief and to not bring it up after today.”

McCoy relaxes, realizing he’s in power. He sits next to Spock and then, after a moment of consideration, he puts his feet on the desk. Spock finally moves, only to inspect McCoy’s boots with disgust.

“This equipment is quite fragile,” he comments icily.

McCoy knows that very well, and he regrets his insolence the moment he assumed the position. He’s still not sure how far he can go before he faces consequences. He makes a show of slowly removing his feet from the desk, and then he leans towards Spock nonchalantly.

“Mr. Spock, correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe you Vulcan French-kissed me on accident.”

Spock raises his eyebrow, but it looks more forced than menacing.

“As you wish, Doctor. You _are_ wrong.”

“I was speaking figuratively, Mr. Spock. This is the easiest way to describe what happened. And the most…fun one.”

“This is not a subject that should be approached with levity,” Spock says with a hint of annoyance. “The description of said event you have offered is highly inappropriate. As I have already stated, you are mistaken in your assessment of what has transpired."

McCoy shrugs: “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“I do not have the authority to determine what it feels like to you since the matter is very subjective. The fact remains, your description of the event is extremely inaccurate.”

McCoy rolls his eyes.

“The fact remains, Mr. Spock, that you’re a touch telepath and you’re spilling your emotions.”

“Doctor, I do not believe I am engaged in any such activity at the moment,” Spock says flatly.

“So if I were to touch you right now, what would happen?”

“Probably nothing of interest, Doctor,” Spock replies, and McCoy’s already opening his mouth to ask whether the last telepathic exchange was of no interest as well, but Spock continues: “I am fully in control of my capacities. What happened before was unfortunate. I was not prepared for the contact and my mental shields were, regrettably, faulty at that moment. It is a rare occurrence. I do not intend to allow this to happen again.”

“You see, Mr. Spock, I don’t really care about the current state of your Vulcan voodoo. What I’m interested in is what you let slip before.”

Spock finally looks him in the eye.

“What I let slip?” he asks cautiously, and he already knows the answer.

This is the moment when McCoy can finally gloat. He’s not sure why he doesn’t feel like it, but he makes an attempt. He leans back and prolongs the silence, hoping to see Spock squirm, but he’s disappointed.

“You see, Mr. Spock,” he says finally. “I’ve seen through you long ago, I know you are emotional. The charade you’re putting on might convince your quivering lab rats, but I know better than that.”

“I am aware,” the Vulcan replies, back to fiddling with the microscope.

“So please illuminate me in regards to our last shared experience, Mr. Spock. Anger and frustration I understand. But there was something else, wasn’t it. And it wasn’t addressed for Jim, either.”

Spock lets his hands fall idly on the desk. He carefully doesn’t look at his interlocutor, focusing his gaze on the wall in front of him. _And that is it_ , because Spock might be cruel and calculative, but everybody knows he’s not in a habit of lying. Avoiding the subject—yes, but good luck with that after a direct question was asked.

“Yes,” Spock says quietly. It’s not undignified, and it’s quite clear he’s not going to offer McCoy more power over him than the Doctor already holds. “Do with it as you find it fit. The reciprocation is neither necessary, nor expected. You are still required to perform your duties on the ship, and you will find I’m not going to be lenient. I will not ignore your transgressions or insubordination. Nor will I use my superior position to coerce you. I do not intend to let it influence my decisions.”

“Any further,” McCoy supplements.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t want it to influence your decisions any further,” the Doctor explains, and he’s surprised how gentle his voice sounds. “After Thanoda-IV. You dropped the ball there, spectacularly so.”

Spock considers him for a moment, uncertain whether to question his choice of vernacular. Eventually, he just nods slowly. “Yes. After Thanoda-IV. And after your actions in my quarters. This will not happen again. Nonetheless, in case of the latter I am not going to offer my apologies since it was your actions that brought the… discomfort upon you.”

There are many other questions McCoy wants to ask, particularly: why the hell _him_? Especially since Spock’s image of him is apparently one of a sentimental weakling barely fitting in? There’s no logic in such an emotional investment, not if one wants to make it in the hierarchy. There’s no benefit in an ally this feeble, but to ask such a question would be to gratify Spock’s opinion of him with acknowledgment it certainly doesn’t deserve. McCoy opts for: “Is it always like this?”

“Please clarify.” Spock states with a wary expression.

“Is every instance of touch telepathy like this? I’ve seen Vulcans do it, and I don’t get why would they do it if it’s solely to experience whatever you put me through.”

Spock is radiating discomfort, but he answers nonetheless.

“No, Doctor. Due to the nature of the transference the non-telepathic species might experience slight disorientation for a moment, but the symptoms should abate quickly. As to the content of said transference… it depends both on the intent and the circumstances.”

“The circumstances, I’m assuming, being: what the Vulcan is feeling at a given moment?”

“Affirmative.” Spock says reluctantly. “In most cases Vulcans make a voluntary and conscious decision to communicate that what they want communicated. And as it is not common to engage in such a behavior outside of a previously discussed and consensual arrangement—”

Spock falters and McCoy jumps in. “You’re exchanging pleasant experiences. Thinking nice thoughts at each other. Long walks in the sunset, violin playing in the background, cute kittens with bows, and fairy dust, I think I get the idea. I would have never thought you were into that mushy stuff.”

Spock’s disapproval is almost palpable.

“That, Doctor, is extremely reductive, to the point of being entirely incorrect. Besides there being no such creatures as cats on Vulcan, what you are describing is trivial and superficial. Perhaps it’s adequate to Human experiences of intimacy, I would not know. Such a contact is willingly initiated between bondmates or most trusted allies, it is meant to be pleasurable, and its goal is to reassure mutual respect and understanding of that which should not be communicated verbally.”

“You mean: those pesky _feelings_ ,” McCoy grins, triumphant.

“If you insist on using that name for the phenomenon, Doctor. Either way, our brief experience does not meet any of the criteria I provided. It was not initiated intentionally, it was unexpected, and thus there was no purpose to it. Given the regrettable circumstances of the occurrence and the briefness of the contact, you were not given enough time to adapt, and, I can only assume, experienced the less agreeable end of the spectrum of possible outcomes.”

“Damn right! You’re lucky I didn’t throw up all over you right there.” McCoy snaps. “You should congratulate me on my self-control, especially compared to yours, Mr. Spock. The ‘regrettable circumstances’ were you being pissed. In a very un-Vulcan manner, I might add.”

“It could be argued that I was given every reason to be… slightly annoyed”, Spock concedes and refuses to concede at the same time. “The use of a medical override was not warranted and was certainly disrespectful. As most of your actions are.”

“That’s what keeping you on edge, eh? Me and my disgusting Human tendencies.” McCoy leans back on the chair comfortably. “And the disturbing fact that perhaps, just perhaps, you might actually _like_ them, Mr. Spock.”

“I do not believe this to be an appropriate topic for discussion. As I have stated, I am not going to allow that to influence our professional relationship. However, I do expect you to conduct yourself professionally or suffer the consequences if you keep refusing to adhere to the protocol. On my part, I can only assure that the past unfortunate occurrence will not be repeated.”

McCoy stands up.

“Glad we have that cleared up, Mr. Spock,” he says, heading towards the door. He doesn’t see it but he can swear the Vulcan’s shoulders visibly relax. McCoy intends to leave the room, triumphant and holding the knowledge of his superior’s weakness. The terms of surrender offered by Spock are not acceptable but he knows very well he’ll find a way to work around them. And yet, instead of leaving, he turns around.

“Oh, Mr. Spock. One more thing,” his mouth says casually while his brain is desperately trying to keep up, because he’s sure as hell this was not the plan and he can gain nothing by showing his hand. “And what if—hypothetically—I didn’t accept your reassurances?”

The Vulcan’s expression is perfectly blank. “In that case, Doctor, it is entirely your problem. I do not make my promises lightly, and your belief or disbelief doesn’t change much.”

“No. What if _I_ wanted it to happen again?” McCoy mouth says, apparently without any conscious decision on his part.

It might be the light playing tricks, but it almost looks like Spock swallows nervously. Ha! It’s the one contingency the bastard didn’t prepare for. McCoy’s still coming out on top.

Well, it’s not like the Doctor himself prepared for it.

Feeling like a fool, he attempts to make it sound deliberately, ironically pompous.

“What if I wanted it to happen again, the right way? And for it to influence our… _professional relationship_. If I wanted you to act unprofessionally, _improper_ maybe—would you, Commander?”

“Doctor,” Spock says carefully. “I can see no reason for that to happen.”

McCoy closes the distance, yanks him be the hair and gives him the reason. As far as the discussion of the terms of surrender goes, Spock is oddly compliant. It’s Terran kissing, the beard tickles, there’s no Vulcan voodoo involved, no accidental telepathy, but oh, it is _glorious_ , and perhaps hearing Spock’s undignified gasp is the only power he needs to hold over him.

With that, McCoy’s brain comes to a screeching halt. This is not what happened, this is definitely not what happened, and there’s a whole set of circumstances that didn’t happen along the way. But of all the things that didn’t happen this didn’t happen the most.

He opens his eyes and the all-too-familiar nausea hits him, so he closes them again. He feels the Other yanking him by the shoulder, physically dragging him out of sickbay, and he realizes with panic that this wasn’t a one-way road. Whatever the Other wanted to find in his mind while McCoy was busy with the delusions, he found. There’s a thought at the back of McCoy’s head, half-formulated and nagging. Perhaps he didn’t just see all of it while the Other was searching for answers, perhaps he was shown it.

He’s not sure what’s happening, part of it is the vertigo, part of it is the fact that he’s still confused about the whole subject of which one of the McCoys he actually is. And part of it, a part really difficult to ignore, is that this Spock _knows_ , he knows where they came from, he can stop them, expose them, execute them and rightfully take over the ship, and yet he pushes McCoy toward Scott, exchanges some unintelligible words with Jim, and then he apparently lets them go.

7.

This Spock doesn’t have a beard. This Spock won’t harm him, this Spock would never do such a thing. It takes some time to deal with the awareness of the violation he has experienced, and McCoy’s not sure how he manages to keep going. Rationally, he knows he should be traumatized much more than he actually is. He doesn’t run away screaming when Spock greets them on the transporter pad. He carefully keeps Jim between Spock and himself for a few days, but he doesn’t even flinch when Jim praises the Other in his presence. He breaks down only in his quarters, and the anxiety is not as intense as he expected it to be.

Perhaps the Other was accustomed to the same exact pathways, so he didn’t do that much damage. Or perhaps he's left something in there, something that still mediates the memory of the experience, painting is as something familiar. It makes sense, the transferences between the Other and the Other’s McCoy were something that he also was made to experience. While it is easy to discern between what memory is his and what belongs to the Other, it’s not that easy to tell which memory of Leonard McCoy is his.

This is probably what stops McCoy from addressing the real issue and makes him fixate on _what_ he saw instead of _why_ he saw it in the first place.

He doesn’t feel the presence of the Other anymore, and the Other’s McCoy is almost gone as well. There are still moments when he feels like there’s two of him, but it’s abating with every passing hour away from that hellish place.

Spock is still carefully avoiding him, and McCoy doesn’t know if it’s because he suspects what happened and fears McCoy is now afraid of him and his abilities—or if it’s still about the same thing as before. Which _could_ mean the Vulcan is in some aspects very similar to the Other.

McCoy makes sure he’s himself first. He performs a surgery and gives the patient the right dosage of anesthesia, not giving in to the morbid curiosity and not using the body to experiment with a new-found strain of bacteria. He doesn’t pat himself on the back for performing his normal duties and not acting like a psychopath, but he does find comfort in the fact. He exchanges some gossip with Uhura, and he doesn’t fish for information he could use against someone. He drinks with Jim and Scotty, and they end up singing. He gives Christine an afternoon off. He calls Joanna just to tell her how proud of her he is.

When he’s absolutely sure he’s himself and it’s him who wants to do that, he finally pays Spock a visit.

8.

He tells him what happened, the general outline of it. Spock has suspected as much from the gaps in the reports, but is horrified nonetheless. McCoy tries to explain that he’s alright, Spock suggests displacement. McCoy points out that Spock’s not qualified to make any diagnoses, especially on him—he, on the other hand, not only underwent an examination but also did have an actual training in psychiatry, and he knows the exact meaning of the terms Spock is so carelessly throwing around, thank you very much. They argue for a moment, and it’s the first normal conversation they had in months. Well, given the circumstances.

So then he tells Spock about the Other and the Other’s McCoy, and, what was to be expected, every bit of regained normalcy goes to hell. The Doctor can actually see Spock rapidly erecting the walls that have just crumbled, straightening his back, purging his face of all hints of emotion. McCoy knew this might happen but it’s still sad to see them going back to square one. At least this time he knows the reasons for Spock shutting him out, for desperately avoiding him for the last two months.

“Doctor, I neglected to offer you a beverage before you leave. I trust you won’t hold it against me,” Spock says finally.

“No, I’m good and having none of that. I think we should talk.”

“I believe that is what we have been doing for the past 1.2 standard hours, Doctor.”

“And that’s what we will continue to do, Mr. Spock,” McCoy says decidedly. “If I understand it correctly, our counterparts are quite similar to us.” He sees Spock getting ready to protest so he quickly explains: “They’re not the same, I know that. But the difference is that they make different decisions, right?”

“From what your reports indicate, I would offer a tentative yes.”

“So they live in world where everyone makes some decisions, and there are consequences to that, and next decisions are influenced by that, right? Well, if the shape of that place—and the shape of our place—is determined by the actions of the beings inhabiting it…” McCoy loses his train of thought and gestures helplessly, but Spock just stares at him blankly. “It’s not them themselves but their actions that make the difference between this universe and the other,” he finishes lamely.

“Doctor, first of all, that holds true for every universe. Additionally, an individual is in many ways constituted by their decisions and actions so it could be argued that two otherwise identical people are not identical if their actions are different.”

McCoy suddenly regrets not having a friendly bottle as the third part in their conversation.

“Well, yes, I know. I can think of some horrible thing to say, and go on and say it. Or not say it. And I know—hell, I hope that is the thing that determines what kind of a person I am.”

The Doctor blushes, thinking of all the imaginary arguments with Spock he won by crossing the line he would never dare to cross.

“One of the important elements of Vulcan mind discipline is to acknowledge that what is not subject to change. _Kaiidth_ —what is, is. However, it is up to the individual to make the decisions which have a bearing on that which can be influenced. Or to refuse to do so.”

McCoy glares, not sure whether Spock understands what the conversation is really about and is giving him a cryptic answer, or he’s just retracting. He tries a different approach.

“What I mean is, could it be possible—and it’s purely theoretical—that while the actions differ, some of the…mental states, feelings someone has in one universe could manifest in their counterpart in another?”

Spock contemplates the wall behind McCoy.

“That is possible from a purely theoretical point of view,” he finally says, phrasing the sentence very carefully.

“Well?” McCoy asks expectantly, suppressing the urge to nudge the Vulcan.

Spock looks at McCoy, brows slightly furrowed.

“There is still a lot that we do not know about quantum mechanics, Doctor, but yes, it seems theoretically possible.”

“Dammit, that is not the answer to my question!” McCoy momentarily gives in and raises his voice, against everything he promised himself.

“But Doctor, that is precisely the answer to the question you have asked.”

They sit in silence for a moment. The awkwardness is palpable.

“Spock,” McCoy tries to start over and hesitates. He could force the admission out of Spock if he wanted. Or perhaps he already has. He licks his lips nervously and revises the speech he had prepared in advance. “I’m a doctor, not a quantum physicist. But am I right in assuming that this another place can’t be, well, inherently evil?”

Spock’s mask doesn’t change.

“Good and evil are abstracts that can be applied only to actions of sentient individuals, Doctor, not entire universes—precisely because said categories are a product of the sentience itself. On Vulcan, we tend to avoid such absolutes in favor of discussion of the effects given events and actions might have on a number of other sentient beings. But on Earth the discussion can be brought down to the medieval problem of the universals. However, even on Earth most of your philosophers moved past using such categories to describe natural disasters or disease around the eighteenth century.” Spock’s much more comfortable with changing the subject, and McCoy allows him to do so for a minute. The Vulcan seems oblivious to that small mercy as he continues: “There were, of course, some philosophers that insisted on using axiology to discuss the perceived entirety of the universe, Leibniz for instance. It could be argued, however, that it was not a philosophical but a theological stance. One that was rapidly losing popularity, at least in the West, whose hegemonic status assured that its philosophy was widely distributed and survived. There was an exception—a small period of theological ontology revival known as the Radical Orthodoxy at the turn of twentieth and twenty-first Century. Of course, by that time most of the natural disasters and the pressing problems were obviously caused by the actions of Humans themselves during the—”

“Yes, Mr. Spock, during the Eugenics Wars,” McCoy says impatiently. “I’m not interested in a history lecture at the moment. What I want to ask is… Is it possible that there is a parallel universe where every decision ever made was a bad one?”

Spock ponders for a moment.

“Given that there is an infinite number of such realities, yes, definitely. Nonetheless, such a universe would be empty of any axiology since its inhabitants, had they even evolved, would have driven themselves to extinction millennia ago.”

McCoy swallows nervously and smiles the warmest smile he can muster.

“See what I’m getting at, Mr. Spock?”

“I do not believe so,” the Vulcan replies, and McCoy knows he’s telling the truth. 

“That other place—the one where we landed—it couldn’t have been entirely bad. Or evil. Yes, it was much worse, obviously,” the Human adds hurriedly. “But, statistically speaking, there must have been _some_ good decisions made. Or they all would have died out long time ago. So yeah, the ratio of good to bad isn’t that great, but—”

“The ratio of ‘good’ to ‘bad’, as you put it, Doctor, seems absolutely unsatisfactory, given the frequency and scope of genocide, murder and torture the landing party has described.”

The Doctor lets out a long-suffering sigh. It’s like pulling teeth, really.

“But there must be some things that are good, you admitted it yourself. So perhaps some minor decisions made that place a little bit more bearable. Made it better.”

Spock sits in silence for a moment, hunched and looking more vulnerable than McCoy has ever seen him.

“Perhaps.” He states, apparently addressing the wall. McCoy exhales, suddenly realizing he was holding his breath. He stands up.

“Well, Mr. Spock, wouldn’t you agree that even if the ratio in our universe is more satisfactory, we do not live in a perfect world?”

The Vulcan finally looks at him.

“I see no need for stating the self-evident, but yes.”

“Then it could still use some improvement.” McCoy grins and offers Spock a hand, careful to do all of this on Spock’s terms, not the Human way. His smile falters when Spock asks: “Doctor, what are you doing?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” you pig-headed, emotionally constipated idiot, McCoy adds in his thoughts. He still doesn’t retract the hand.

“If this is an attempt at courtship, Doctor, it is a failed one.”

McCoy folds his arms on his chest, scowling.

“My name is Leonard.”

“Yes, I was aware of that fact.” Spock says neutrally. McCoy shoots him a dirty look but he continues, unbothered: “And the proper way is to extend your index and middle digits.”

McCoy is honestly on the verge of offering him solely the middle digit when the Vulcan finally rises from his seat and extends his hand in the gesture he just described.

The universe collapses in on itself for a moment as the next tangent point is created. It happened already somewhere else, but right here and now it’s happening _better._ It’s nothing like the discussion of the terms of surrender he recalls from that other place, where it was a nice euphemism for something entirely different. Here, it’s laying out some ground rules, it’s not figurative, and there’s an awful lot of actual talking involved.


End file.
